


an open palm (an invitation)

by tangerine_skye



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Sad and Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 16:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19727314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tangerine_skye/pseuds/tangerine_skye
Summary: (canon divergence, set during the court recess in episode 5)Valery looks at the hand – he looks at the tremble in the fingertips, the creases behind the hinges of his knuckles, the years marked into the skin written in the whorls and valleys that span the palm. He licks his lips, trepidation and despair and resignation all push to the forefront of his mind.When he grasps the hand before him and stands, the noise in his head quietens and stills.





	an open palm (an invitation)

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Una palma abierta (una invitación)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19841356) by [XJohnlockX](https://archiveofourown.org/users/XJohnlockX/pseuds/XJohnlockX)



“I’m an inconsequential man, Valera. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

The line of his mouth presses into a thin line and Boris looks away for a moment, a hesitation before their eyes meet again.

“I hoped that one day I would matter, but I didn’t,” he says softly, “I just stood next to people who did.”

At this, Boris reaches over and taps him gently on the back with a splayed hand, a nudge of acknowledgement. His eyes are soft, gentle; affectionate even. They are honest and true, like the words from his lips. 

Valery feels his throat constrict, a tightness settling in his chest. He despairs that Boris cannot see, he doesn’t see-

Valery drops gaze, feeling the emotion overwhelm him. He fears that Boris might see his own truth reflected there. He curls his fingers into a fist and forces the words anyway, past the trepidation that clings to his tongue.

“There are other scientists like me,” Valery begins, “Any one of them could have done what I did. But you…everything we asked for, everything we needed. Men, material, lunar rovers.” He smiles a little at this, shaking his head. “Who else could have done these things? They heard me, but they listened to you.”

Boris is looking away now, the slightest furrow in his brow as he considers this. Valery continues, propelled by a desire to make his friend see what he knows to be true.

“Of all the ministers, and all the deputies, entire congregation of obedient fools they mistakenly sent the one good man.”

He watches Boris, sincerity and genuineness naked on his face.

“For god’s sake Boris, you were the one who mattered the most,” he says, words punctuated with feeling.

The bravery that spurred the earnestness of his words flees almost instantly as soon as he speaks, but it has been said and cannot be unspoken. The truth is there now, suspended between them. 

Boris has dropped his eyes, his gaze falling to rest upon a distant scene. Not for the first time, Valery wonders what he is thinking.

He looks down. A caterpillar has started a journey across Boris’ pant leg. Boris reaches out with a solitary finger, encouraging it to take hold. There is an overwhelming gentleness to the action, he is so careful with the small creature. It crawls onto his finger and he lifts it, studying it closely.

“Ah,” he breathes, “It’s beautiful.”

Valery watches it too, as it crawls across the palm of his hand. New life, Valery thinks, a blessing in this cursed time. Change may still come, change _has_ come. Boris reaches down and lets the small creature slip onto the dirt. It slowly moves away from them, pursuing the temptation of trees in the distance.

Boris looks up and blinks a few times. The corner of his mouth twitches a little, the barest hint of a smile, and their eyes meet.

“I don’t know what to say,” he admits, voice low, like gravel in his throat.

Valery lets an amused huff of air escape him.

“You could start with a thank you,” he says, teasing; gentle.

Boris doesn’t smile at this. Instead, he looks at Valery with an intensity that sends shivers down his spine, spiralling goose bumps from the path it weaves over his skin. Valery fights a compulsion to look away under the scrutiny of his gaze, but there is a knowledge that curls inside him - it has a stranglehold on his attention and tells him that he cannot avoid this, not now.

He realises Boris’ eyes are wet and Valery shifts slightly, discomfort prickling at his skin. It is a rare occurrence to see his friend upset and it pains him deeply.

“I’m sorry,” Valery says. He reaches a hand towards Boris and gently, cautiously, places trembling fingers against the fabric of his pants, curling slightly against the curve of his knee.

Boris glances down, the intensity collapsing for one moment, a pause the length of an intake of breath, before his gaze returns. His eyes burn bright, as though a supernova of emotion has converged in the blue irises, brilliant and blinding. This time, Valery can’t help but glance away, his own eyes falling to study the grains of dirt beside his shoe. He notices a single strand of grass struggling up through the dust.

“Valera,” Boris sighs. The word is heavy with intent and it waits with expectation; a question.

Valery swallows, adjusts his glasses, and answers.

Boris’ lips are dry, but his mouth is hot and wet. There must still be a remnant of blood on his tongue, for Valery tastes the sharpness of iron and winces. Fingers, steady and rough, caress the side of his cheek, brushing the nape of his neck before they dance away again, teasing. Kindling lights deep in his belly, curious and unsure, rousing to the memory of a feeling that has been deep in slumber for many years.

Boris pulls back and clears his throat; a rumble of sound. Valery notes the gentle flush of his cheeks, the affection in his eyes. He exhales a shaky breath that stumbles from his lips.

A warm hand comes to rest on his own, still pressed against Boris’ knee. Callused fingers hold it tight, a thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles into the shallow skin of his wrist. Boris looks at him and smiles, a wry smile, but one with warmth hidden in the twist of his mouth and the crevasses of his skin.

“Thank you,” he says, and Valery idly wonders how long he has left to live. The unfairness of it chokes him, strangles him. He sniffs.

“We should get back,” is what he says. _I want to stay here forever_ , is what he means.

Understanding passes between them, a catch of eyes and synchronised heartbeats. Boris nods.

“Let’s go,” he says.

He stands, and Valery’s hand falls away, returning to his own side. It feels cold now, bare without warmth beneath the fingertips. Boris pauses for a moment and seems to be considering something. Perhaps he feels this loss too.

He turns to Valery and reaches out, an open palm. An invitation.

Valery looks at the hand – he looks at the tremble in the fingertips, the creases behind the hinges of his knuckles, the years marked into the skin written in the whorls and valleys that span the palm. He licks his lips, trepidation and despair and resignation all push to the forefront of his mind.

When he grasps the hand before him and stands, the noise in his head quietens and stills. Boris looks towards the door and Valery mirrors his gaze. The hand clasped in his squeezes gently, a reassuring touch. Determination settles in the firmness of his jaw.

They walk together towards the courtroom.

The hand slips from his just before they enter.

A nose brushes the curve of his neck, lips touching just by the base of his ear.

“Good luck,” Boris breathes.

And then he is gone, snatched away, and Valery knows what must be done.

He wonders if he will ever see Boris again.

**Author's Note:**

> wheeeew boy i really did not expect to come out of watching chernobyl with a ship im still honestly confused by this development? anyway i loved it and i love them and i hope you love this


End file.
